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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24756904">the place that should not be</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juanita_Rainbow/pseuds/Juanita_Rainbow'>Juanita_Rainbow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Added Womb, Come Inflation, Forced Pregnancy, In Public, Mpreg, Other</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:01:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,257</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24756904</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juanita_Rainbow/pseuds/Juanita_Rainbow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>As requested: Steve Rogers, impregnated by tentacle monster in front of a gallery of Hydra agents - cooperation secured by Bucky being next up if he fails.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Tentacle Monster</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Nonconathon 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the place that should not be</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashyTime/gifts">TrashyTime</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Maybe this one will survive."</p>
<p>It is not a comforting statement to hear.</p>
<p>Also not comforting: the slime and blood mingled on the ground. The forcefield-protected balcony full of leering faces - and, even worse, disinterested faces - eating their buffet lunch, chatting to one another, no doubt jostling for political position.</p>
<p>The other cell, currently strongly barred, where they are keeping his 'motivation'. Unconscious, thankfully, for now - but that disturbing programmed unconsciousness where he sits on a stone bench and stares blindly into the arena, not the languid abandon of true sleep.</p>
<p>(When you're a soldier, you learn to sleep anywhere.)</p>
<p>While he was out, they had done… something… to leave him feeling bloated and empty and deeply wrong, somewhere inside. He doesn't want to think about it, but the sensation of wrongness keeps rising unbidden to his attention.</p>
<p>No uniform. No shield. Of all the reasons to feel naked - and, of course, he is naked - he mostly feels naked without his shield.</p>
<p>There is a grating in the middle of the floor. He had assumed that it was to drain away the fluids that were clearly produced here. It is not until it starts to move that he considers that it might be another entrance.</p>
<p>Twined around the grating, lifting it from its study concrete mount, the delicate, questing tips of strong, slime-coated tentacles. Fleshy and grey, pulsating like some kind of alien slug, ever thickening as more of their bulk pushed its way into the arena.</p>
<p>The grating fell aside with a loud clang. He hadn't realised that he had been backing up, that his back was now against the cold concrete arena wall with nowhere further to go, as far as he could get from the monstrous intrusion.</p>
<p>No. He would not look up at their faces. He would not give them the pleasure of watching him be afraid. He moves off from the wall, just a little, and observes the monster.</p>
<p>Without getting close enough to touch the gently waving tentacles, seemingly content for the moment to explore the air and surfaces around the center of the arena, there was no sign of the creature's body, only dozens of undulating tentacles methodically cataloguing their surroundings.</p>
<p>At their thickest, the visible base of the tentacles is a little larger than his own circumference; the ever-moving tips taper to a slender end around the size that his little finger was, before the serum.</p>
<p>The grating looks quite sturdy and heavy; the tentacles must have considerable strength to them.</p>
<p>There is a scent in the air around them, too, and it is not as displeasing as he might have feared. The clear slime is giving off a somewhat intoxicating aroma, in fact; a little mushroom-y if he thinks about it too hard, perhaps, but mostly it smells like…</p>
<p>Like semen.</p>
<p>He recalls, then, something that his mind had carefully pushed aside. In between the part where he had been overcome with sedative gas and the part where he had woken up on an operating table. Bound with heavy steel cords, the centerpiece of some kind of party - the kind of party that was heavy on posturing, hailing Hydra, and for the most daring, pulling out one's penis to ejaculate on the restrained hero.</p>
<p>He was still, somewhat unwillingly, reviewing this memory when the first tentacle darted out in his direction and discovered his foot on the ground.</p>
<p>Instincts took over and he darted back to assess the danger, but despite all of the implicit threat involved in the situation, the tentacle itself seemed curiously nonthreatening. He let it find him again, and move smoothly over his foot, mapping out the shape of it.</p>
<p>It was warm. For some reason he hadn't expected it to be warm.</p>
<p>There was something almost… pleasant about it gently squirming around his lower leg. Something… comforting. Almost as if it was friendly contact, rather than an impending terror.</p>
<p>It almost put him off his guard. </p>
<p>Enough that when the two tentacles lashed out towards his wrists, and the initial tentacle tightened its grip around his ankle, he could only just twist away in time and fell to the ground with the effort of yanking his ankle from its grasp.</p>
<p>He regretted it instantly - that he had bothered - that he had fought. It seemed to make more of the crowd in the gallery - who he couldn't resist taking a quick look at, after that performance - start to pay more attention.</p>
<p>And it certainly had made more of the tentacles start to pay attention.</p>
<p>He looked the monster over again, making a swift calculation. Even if he could begin to fight it off, there was no telling how many additional tentacles there were, still beneath the ground where the grating had once been.</p>
<p>So he decided not to give them the benefit of watching him struggle. He stood still, firm and tall as the tentacles returned, several to each limb now, and entangled him in their warm, smooth, increasingly tight embrace.</p>
<p>At this point there was a momentary lull, his enhanced body preventing their coils from doing any damage as they attempted to tighten around wrists, lower arms, ankles, shins.</p>
<p>And then the other tentacle entered him.</p>
<p>It did not enter him by a hole that he knew. It entered into that wrongness, that emptiness that had been dug into him, some time after the public display and before he had awoken here.</p>
<p>He had meant to hold out; to continue to appear strong and unaffected, as he knew that he could through pain, and even through the kinds of sexual contact to which he had previously been subjected.</p>
<p>But something in that touch unmade him. Something in the wrongness, in the place that should not be, in the emptiness that was steadily becoming fuller and fuller, reached in and touched a part of him that turned him into a struggling, panicked animal - that made him writhe and keen and pull frantically against the bonds that he had so calmly accepted.</p>
<p>It was too late, of course. They held him fast.</p>
<p>Just as he thought that he might re-assert some control - as the awful, questing tendril inside filled him to bursting, and the edge of pain that came with it was familiar enough, was almost calming - it began to pulse, rhythmically, awfully…</p>
<p>...and if he had considered himself full before, he had not known even the beginning of it, as it began to pump its thick seed into the wrongness at the heart of him.</p>
<p>This time there was no writhing, as he could hardly bear to move, with the feeling that any movement would surely burst the cavity within and flood him entire with the tentacle's outpouring. </p>
<p>Instead he threw back his head and tried to scream, but his healed and perfect lungs were compressed by the distortion of his internal organs, and he could hardly catch his breath…</p>
<p>...an eternal moment later…</p>
<p>...the tentacle fell from him with a great gush of blood and slime and monstrous semen, and gradually, almost reluctantly, the other tentacles began to unwind and make their departure.</p>
<p>And he stood, swaying slightly, not falling to the floor as one might expect, because despite their mutilations, despite the surreality and absence that he had retreated into, his body was still strong and knew what it was doing.</p>
<p>And the emptiness… the emptiness… was no longer empty.</p>
<p>Not as full as it was - not full to bursting with tentacle and fluids - but full of something else: full of promise.</p>
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